Blackthorne
by Loser Girl
Summary: ~ Finished ~ Prophecy tells of one, A Blackthorne, who will save the land of Gondor. However, the one is not at all what everyone expected.
1. The Arrival

~*~* Author's Note: I've been working on this story for a while now. Tell me what you think! R/R! This takes place BEFORE the events of FOTR, and Aragorn and Legolas are already friends. *~*~  
  
  
The forest was a million shades of green, for the spring had brought a new life to the land that had been covered in snow just a short time before. Jilikius Blackthorne stood at the edge of a valley, gazing down into the depths of the wood. Brow furrowing, he squinted his eyes, and took a sniff of the air. His daughter, the young and fair Loriana, came behind him, touching her father on the shoulder.   
  
"What is it, father?" she asked, a note of concern playing against her fair face. The aging man turned, and faced his daughter with a smile.  
  
"Nothing, Loriana. We shall reach Bree within the day."  
  
"Already? I thought we had many miles ahead of us." She paused a moment, considering, and then continued, "Since we are so close, may I stray to pick flowers? I wish to make a crown." The young woman smiled up at her father, and he nodded.  
  
"Aye, but wander not far from the path. We are close to Bree indeed, but there are still dangers of the forest."  
  
"Aye," his daughter responded, and danced off toward a patch of yellow and white flowers. She kneeled, her white dress covering her legs and the ground around her. Singing a song she made up just then, Loriana began to pluck flowers from the ground, placing them in a basket she carried.   
  
The song bird's cry,  
And the whispering pine,  
The clouds in the sky,  
And the squirrels so fine.  
Green leaves from the trees,  
And yellow beams of sun,  
Are all that I see,  
Are all I dream of.  
How I wish I could  
Stay in the forest all day,  
But from this wood,  
I fear, I must stray.  
  
She continued to hum, lost in thought and wonder for the wood. She had picked several white flowers, when a sudden feeling swept over her. She looked up, in the direction her father had stood just moments ago. He was no longer there. She smelled the air, and closed her eyes for a moment. Dread filled her voice.  
  
"Father?" she asked, glancing around again. She heard a scurrying sound in the bush. "Father?" she called again, louder this time. Standing, she dropped the basket. It fell to the ground, the flowers falling out of it and back to the earth.   
  
"Father!" Loriana exclaimed, and began to run in the direction he was last. She heard a growl behind her, and turned. She gasped, backing up a step, then two. Orcs, several of them. At least five or six, surrounded her quickly. "Father!" she called again, and then the orcs began to advance. She continued to back up until she was pressed against the trunk of a tree. The foul orcs continued to surround her.  
  
She looked up. A fairly low tree branch loomed over her. Loriana leapt up, gripping onto the branch and swinging herself onto it. She felt slivers go into her hand, and several arrows followed her into the tree. The orcs began to chop at the tree's trunk with their swords. She felt the tree falter beneath her, and she knew that within moments, it would fall. She glanced about for a means of escape, and that's when she saw her father, laying on the ground motionless, nearly 50 feet from her.   
  
"Father!" she shouted, and the tree began to fall. She ran across the branch, and jumped to the ground, falling to her knees upon the impact. She leapt up again, and ran to her father's side. He clutched his sword, barely conscious. Blood poured from a wound in his abdomen.  
  
"Father," Loriana said softly, and he looked up at her.  
  
"The orcs, Loriana." They were quickly behind her. Jilikius pressed his sword into her hands. She felt it's cool metal, then it began to feel warm, then finally hot. A bright yellow light seemed to form around her hand. She nodded, and turned, facing the orcs with a rage in her eyes that none had ever seen. An orc leapt at her, wielding a sword of it's own. She countered the attack, quickly, the clang of metal on metal filling the spring air. She quickly got the better of the creature, stabbing it once and then kicking it off her sword. She fought the next, and the next, until she faced the last one. She leapt at it, and it responded, slashing at her arm. It caught her flesh, and quickly her white sleeve turned red with blood. She barely noticed, instead, with a fierce cry, she spun her sword, catching the orcs' head and removing it from it's body. She sighed, and then turned back to her father. Falling to her knees, she took his hand in hers'.  
  
"Father?" she asked, her voice catching in her throat. He looked up at her, his skin already pale with death.  
  
"Loriana, my dear Loriana. You seem far to young to -" he cut off, coughing. Loriana's eyes watered, and her father continued. "You are a Blackthorne, Loriana. You know your destiny."  
  
"But father, I am but a girl," she said, doubt in her voice.  
  
"Nay, my dear, nay. You are a Blackthorne," he repeated, "Now, listen to me, you must go to -" he coughed," - to Rivendell. Seek Elrond. Take -" he coughed once more, his voice growing fainter and fainter, " - take my sword and shield."  
  
Her eyes glistened with tears, as her father began to falter. "Father?" she asked once more, clutching his hand tightly.  
  
"Avenge me," were his last words, spoken barely in a whisper. Then, his eyes froze, and his heart stopped. Loriana feared that hers would as well. She knelt there for a long time, weeping. She closed her father's eyes, and stood, picking up the sword and his shield. She began to walk.  
  
She walked for a long time, she wasn't sure how long. Days and nights bled together. Finally, she came across a farmer in his field. He looked at her strangely, and she spoke to him.  
  
"Tell me, sir, what place is this?"  
  
"A farm, several mile from Weathertop, miss."  
  
"How far to Rivendell, then?" she asked, stepping up to him. He looked her over, a puzzled expression on his face. Then, he saw her sword.  
  
"The sword of the Blackthorne!" he exclaimed, dropping his shovel. Loriana merely nodded. "You are a Blackthorne?"  
  
"I am the Blackthorne, the only one that remains," she responded. "How far to Rivendell?" she repeated, growing impatient.  
  
"Several days' walk. Please, come inside, you look very hungry." She reluctantly agreed, it had seemed like ages since she ate a true meal; along the way she had but bread and water from the river. The farmer noticed her wound, the cut on her arm that the orc had done. "You're hurt," he remarked, "but I shall help you. I have no dresses, though - for I live alone without a wife or daughter - else I would give you one." Her white dress had become quite soiled, from blood and dirt.  
  
"I thank you," she responded politely, and followed the farmer into his house. He quickly filled the table with vegetables and breads, cheeses and a wine. Loriana eagerly ate and drank, while the farmer fetched a bandage and some water.   
  
"I am Hapartus Windmere," he offered, as he sat next to her. She removed her arm from her sleeve, and the man grimaced. "That is an ugly wound, however did you get it?"  
  
"Orcs," she said between bites, and then added, "and I am Loriana Blackthorne, of the wilderness."  
  
"Aye," he said, "My father knew your grandfather, Pargilius Blackthorne." Loriana nodded, and winced as Hapartus cleaned her cut. "I have prepared a warm bath for you, if you would like," he added, and Loriana nodded with a smile.  
  
"Thank you, Hapartus," she said softly. He finished bandaging her wound, and she stood. "Have you a spare set of clothes?" she requested, "Pants and a shirt would be wonderful," she added.  
  
"Aye!" he exclaimed and stood, going to a chest of drawers. He rummaged through for a bit, and withdrew a pair of dark green pants and a brown shirt. Handing them to her, he looked down. "Hardly suitable for a Blackthorne.."   
  
She smiled kindly at him. "These will be fine. Thank you again."  
  
  
Loriana relaxed in the bath, closing her eyes. She felt tears begin to come, and she allowed them for a moment, then she wiped them away. Lifting her eyelids, she was shocked to find a man standing by the door, glaring at her. Loriana let out a cry, but the man merely sneered.   
  
"Do not flatter yourself, girl," he mumbled, and threw a towel at her. She covered herself up and stood, glaring up at the dark man.  
  
"Who are you?" she demanded, enraged.  
  
"Anger yourself not," he advised, and threw the pants and shirt at her. "And get dressed, we have a long way to walk tonight."  
  
  
"Are you going to tell me who you are, or not?" demanded Loriana, walking beside the man. They were already nearly a mile from Hapartus' house, and she still knew nothing of the rather rude stranger.  
  
"Your father was expected in Bree nearly two weeks ago," said the man, stopping and turning to her.  
  
"I'm sure he'd apologize for his tardiness if he were alive," she retorted, turning and walking on. The man reached forth and grabbed her arm. She turned, raising a fist to him. "Do not touch me," she warned, a glimmer of rage in her eye, "or you shall live to regret it."  
  
The man shook his head. "You are indeed a Blackthorne," he muttered. "And I, am Aragorn, son of Arathorn. I knew your father quite well. Though, he did not mention you. I can see why."  
  
"What do you mean by that?"  
  
"Don't you imagine your father wanted a son, rather than a daughter? For now, the entire Blackthorne legacy is thrust onto the narrow shoulders of a girl." He looked at her in disgust.  
  
Loriana reached for her sword. Aragorn in turn held his in front of him.   
  
"We shall see," she said with a sneer, "who the girl is here."  
  
The two tarried and fought, Loriana first leading and then Aragorn did, his sword clashing with hers. Finally, it was Loriana who ended up on the leaves. Aragorn held his sword to her throat, and then sheathed it, offering a hand to help her up. She refused it, and stood up on her own. Aragorn laughed, and bowed to the Blackthorne.  
  
"There be no girls here," he said with a smirk, "but warriors."  
  
  
The two walked throughout the night, in a silent agreement not to stop until they reached Rivendell, for it was not far. That morning, Loriana and Aragorn drank from the river and ate whatever bread they carried. They sat for a moment, then they set off again. They were perhaps 10 miles from Rivendell, when Loriana stopped. Aragorn paused a few paces ahead of her, a puzzled expression on his face. She pulled her sword from it's sheath, turning and facing behind them.  
  
"Who is there?" she demanded, holding her sword high, the sunlight glaring off of it. "If you are friend, I will not harm you."  
  
There was a laugh, and their follower stepped from behind a nearby tree. Loriana approached him, holding her sword to his chest. Then Aragorn let out a laugh.  
  
"She's quite good, isn't she, old friend?" he asked, and Loriana grumbled, sheathing the sword.   
  
"I suppose you know him," she said, and stepped back from him.  
  
"Aye, she is quite good," the other finally spoke, his voice like bells, soft and gentle, yet with a harsh jadedness to it. "For I have never known anyone of your race who could detect an elf."  
  
"Even I could not hear you," replied Aragorn, "my friend Legolas, why do you follow us?"  
  
"I was not sure if it was you. And the girl you accompany, she moves silently. If I didn't know better, I'd say she was an elf."   
  
"Quite a compliment," Aragorn replied, and turned back towards Loriana. She, however, was not there; she was, in fact, at least a hundred feet ahead of them, and neither Aragorn nor Legolas had heard her move.  
  
  
They reached Rivendell as the moon was rising the next night. Aragorn and Legolas greeted Elrond fondly, while Loriana stood in silence.   
  
"So this is the Blackthorne," the elder elf said, raising his eyebrows. "There has nae been a female Blackthorne, not in the history of Middle-Earth."  
  
She bowed her head, closing her eyes. The old elf smiled gently, and touched her fair head.   
  
"Take rest, and clean up, for tonight we shall feast." 


	2. The Council

~*~* A/N: Here's part two. So far, no one has reveiwed part One - are you guys out there? *grin* Anyway, this part is dedicated to my buddy Lily! :-D ~*~*  
  
  
  
Elrond and Aragorn spoke afterwards, the two walking throughout Rivendell.  
  
"This worries me," said Elrond, wisely. "We know not if she can fight-"  
  
"Oh, she can fight," said Aragorn, chuckling a bit, "She is a warrior - of that much I am certain. And she is strong, with the senses of an elf. I pray thee, do not underestimate her."  
  
  
Loriana sighed, sitting down at last. An elven woman walked into the room, and set down a pile of towels for her.  
  
"Mayst I get you anything?" the woman asked, and Loriana thought a moment.  
  
"There are two things," Loriana responded, looking down, clearly embarrassed.  
  
"What are they?" asked the woman gently. "Master Elrond said to get you anything you desired, within reason, of course."  
  
"I wish to speak with Lady Arwen, and I have need of a dress, for I have nae a gown to wear."  
  
The elf nodded, and left the room. Minutes later, the door opened once again and Lady Arwen stepped in.  
  
"Raelinda said you wanted to speak with me," she said, sitting beside Loriana. "What is it?"  
  
"The elven man I met today, Legolas."  
  
Lady Arwen smiled, already knowing why Loriana was asking of him.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Tell me of him. He seems.. Sad. Wounded, like. But on the inside."  
  
"Like you, Loriana, Legolas has faced much sadness, much loss. He is not from Rivendell, else I could tell you more, but he is from Mirkwood. A Prince, he is."  
  
"A Prince? He hardly seems royal at all."  
  
Lady Arwen smiled, sadly. "Things aren't always what they seem, young Loriana, least of all elves."  
  
Raelinda strode back into the room, carrying a dress of yellow and silver.   
  
"You favor him, do you not?" asked Arwen, a playful smile on her lips.   
  
Loriana looked at Arwen, then back down. "It does not matter if I do or not, and there are two reasons why. The first being that he most certainly would not favor me in return, but the second is far more grave. I am a Blackthorne, and therefore to be alone, besides to bear a child to carry on the name. For all my life. I cannot love, only fight. It is written as so."  
  
Arwen stood, and bowed slightly to Loriana. "I will leave you now, my father wishes you to be dressed and ready for the feast within the hour."  
  
  
Loriana bathed, washing the dirt and blood from her hair. It became light red when she dried and combed it, and fell to her waist gently, elegantly. She slipped into the dress, sighing as the soft elven fabric eased around her. She looked into the mirror before her.   
  
She could feel the tears spring to her eyes. An image of her mother came into her mind. She was a young girl, 5 or 6 years old, when she lived with her mother. She was the most beautiful woman in all of the world, her father told her with a sigh. Then, she was taken from them.  
  
She saw her mother within herself. The same hair, the same deep eyes. But Loriana had scars, had painful memories and bruises that her mother had not been made to endure.   
  
"Oh mother," she said softly, then closed her eyes. "Father.. What am I to do now? I am not a warrior, I am a girl, I have only seen twenty summers. How could you leave me?" She could feel anger and sorrow deep within her breast.  
  
She heard something stir outside her door, and she quickly brushed away the tears. Raelinda returned, carrying a box in her hands.  
  
"This is a gift from the lord Elrond," she said, and left the box on the bed. Loriana smiled, offering a quiet "thank you", and then the elven maiden was gone.   
  
Loriana ventured to the bed, sitting as she took the box. Lifting the lid, she gasped, a mixture of laughter and sorrow catching in her throat.  
  
She lifted the crown of flowers, white and yellow, and walked to the mirror. Placing it atop her head, she smiled softly, both sad and happy at once.  
  
  
The feast was remarkable, many elven delicacies spread out. Loriana ventured into the hall, and it seemed that all eyes set on her. For this was the Blackthorne. Legolas' eyes grew wide. It was not possible that this was she; the mangy, dirty, callous girl he met in the forest had transformed into a beauty beyond even the loveliest elvish words?   
  
She smiled gratefully, and nodded to Aragorn when he approached her.  
  
"Loriana," he said, bowing gently. She smiled, bowing her head in return.  
  
"Sir Aragorn," she said politely.  
  
"I knew you were a Blackthorne, but I did not know you to be a beauty."  
  
A blush crept up her cheeks. "Need I take out my sword?" she asked with a smile, but only half-joking.  
  
Aragorn laughed, and shook his head. Legolas approached them, his eyes still fixed on her beauty.  
  
"Lady Blackthorne," said the Elf, bowing in front of the woman. Her eyes twinkled for a moment, then she bowed her head.  
  
"Prince Legolas," she said with a smirk. "How lovely for you to grace us with your presence."  
  
Her words stung him like a thousand bees. Did she see him as haughty? Nae, he was not - that was Haldir of Lorien, but not Legolas of Mirkwood. Before he could respond, he felt a light hand upon his shoulder. Soft, thin fingers.   
  
"This is perhaps the Blackthorne," she said, in a voice both soft and firm. Legolas turned and kissed her cheek, as was customary among elves.  
  
"Aye, it is Veerle," he responded. Loriana felt her heart falter. Arwen had not mentioned an elvish lady in his life. Yet this one was beautiful, with hair of many colors and radiant with gold, and eyes of the lightest blue. She wore an elegant dress, golden, that made hers seem plain in comparison.   
  
Loriana bowed her head, and Veerle did the same.   
  
"I am Loriana Blackthorne," she said, head still bowed.  
  
"I am Veerle, of Mirkwood," the elf said, voice lovely as a rippling brook, and she was still holding onto Legolas' shoulder. He smiled at her, warm and loving.  
  
"Veerle is my sister," he said at last, and Loriana felt as though a weight was taken from her chest. "She is the Princess of Mirkwood, and much younger than I. Still naïve, I fear," he smiled playfully as the elf shook her head.  
  
"Nae, Legolas! I am not naïve."  
  
  
Then, it seemed as though the walls would collapse. All at once, people began running about. A young man, barely thirty years of age, rushed in, shouting.  
  
"Gondor is under attack!" he exclaimed, running to Elrond.   
  
"Boromir?" the elder elf asked, and the man nodded.  
  
"Gondor, it is under attack. Thousands of orcs, and trolls, and worse things that I cannot mention, stormed her gates ten day ago. Gondor is under attack, and it will fall!"  
  
"The White City will never fall," said Elrond, standing. "Assemble as many as we can spare. Blackthorne!" Loriana looked up. "Are you ready for battle?"  
  
"Of course, my lord," she said, with a nod.  
  
Boromir looked amazed. "This.. A Blackthorne?!"   
  
Veerle's gaze rested on Boromir. He was strong, and had a air of bravery and nobility about him. Before even a moment had passed, she tore it away. Legolas was watching her, concerned.   
  
"Boromir, take rest here tonight, for you have journeyed long. Blackthorne, your council will be tonight, for tomorrow the armies must depart for Gondor," Elrond said, and she nodded.   
  
  
She sat in a chair, beside Lord Elrond. About them, men and elves sat, staring at her. She felt their eyes, accusing and demeaning her. Even when she looked away, she could still feel them.   
  
"I have called this council here to discuss the legacy of the Blackthorne, and to carry out the test."  
  
"Test?" asked Loriana, almost standing. "What test do you speak of?"  
  
"Do not interrupt, girl," said Elrond, glaring at her. She cowered back in her chair, and he went on. "As you all know, Jilikius Blackthorne was killed several weeks ago, and he has left behind Loriana, his only heir."  
  
About them, men and elves all bowed their heads for a moment, as did Loriana. She was certain none of them had ever met her father; to them, she was merely a name. Blackthorne. How she came to detest the name. She felt the anger grow inside of her.  
  
"They think I am not worthy of the name," she thought, "and they mean to test me - to be sure that I am who I say!" The more she thought, the angrier she became.  
  
Legolas watched her, seeing her face flush with rage. He wanted to place a hand on her shoulder, comfort her, help her. But he himself was not sure if she was *the* Blackthorne.  
  
"Now, for the test," said Elrond. "Stand, Blackthorne." Loriana stood up, hand floating to her sheath. "When I say, draw your sword. You will be tarrying with us."  
  
"Whom out of you?" she inquired, hand grasping her sword.  
  
"All of us, Blackthorne," he said, and nodded to a large man on one side. He stood, unsheathing his own sword. "Draw your sword, Loriana, and tarry."  
  
The large man advanced on Loriana, his sword clanging against hers. She faught back, and within moments had him on his back. Her sword seemed to glow with a yellow intensity. She faught the next, and the next, faltering only once.  
  
Next, Legolas stood.   
  
"Tarry," commanded Elrond, and he advanced, a dagger in each of his slender hands. Loriana swallowed hard, and faught back. His daggers clashed with her sword, and she had him nearly beat. He hadn't meant to slash her arm, but he had by accident. She grimaced, her shield-hand going immediately to her new wound. He dropped his daggers immediately.  
  
"I'm sorry," he said, stepping closer to her. "Are you all right?"  
  
"Just fine, elf boy," she grumbled, and kicked his legs out from under him. He landed on his back, and she held her sword to his throat, placing a foot on his stomache. She glared down at him for a moment, then backed away.   
  
"Next?"  
  
  
Veerle watched the council from above, her light eyes aglow with interest. She watched as the girl downed her own brother, the warrior of her family.  
  
"This girl must be special," she murmured, then heard footsteps behind her. She knew whom it was without even turning.  
  
"Indeed, for she is a Blackthorne," said Boromir, walking to her side. She ventured a look, just one, toward the man beside her. She saw he looked back, with dark eyes riddled with fear and concern.  
  
"You worry for your city," she said softly, placing a soft hand on his shoulder.  
  
"I do," he said, looking down. "But, if this is truly a Blackthorne, then we have little to worry about. For it is prophesized that the Blackthorne will save Gondor," he paused, "They didn't mention it would be a girl, though."  
  
"Things aren't always what they appear, Sir Boromir," she said mysteriously. He met her gaze, and she removed her hand from his shoulder.  
  
"Well, I for one never imagined to fight alongside a woman," he said, and shook his head.  
  
"Women aren't all feeble, Sir Boromir," she said, looking far out into the stars. "Some of us long for adventure, for battle, for honor. But never shall we achieve it."  
  
  
Loriana returned to her chamber that night, setting her sword down on the bed and stepping to the window. At the end, the council had found that she was, indeed, the Blackthorne. Elrond looked upon her then, not as a girl but as a warrior, after she had downed each member of the council.   
  
As Loriana looked above her, to the stars, seeking answers to questions she could not bring herself to ask, a figure stood below, watching her.  
  
Legolas ventured out to the gardens, sitting beside a fountain. He gazed up, seeing Loriana at her window. He felt footsteps approach, and then heard the sweet voice of the Lady Arwen behind him.  
  
"You watch her," she said, watching him with curiosity.  
  
"I do," admitted Legolas, looking down. "I think of her, and I-" he stopped himself.  
  
"You favor her."  
  
"Indeed," said Legolas, turning to look upon Arwen. To him, even she did not hold the beauty that Loriana did. She smiled sadly upon him. "I think she must hate me, for she is always sneering or grumbling at me."  
  
Arwen could only laugh as she shook her head at the elf before her. "Legolas, how old are you?"  
  
"Older than I care to say," said the blonde elf, sighing. "Much older than she."  
  
"Aye, for she is merely twenty years of age. And yet, with all your years and wisdom, you cannot see it."  
  
"See what?" Legolas asked, raising a delicate eyebrow.  
  
"The reason she sneers at you, and pushes you away. Fair Legolas, her heart is wounded deeply, and she knows what she is to do in this world. She is a Blackthorne, quite possibly *the* Blackthorne that prophecy speaks of. She knows she cannot love, so she pushes you away."  
  
"Do you mean to say that," he faltered for a moment, daring to speak the unimaginable, "that she loves me?"  
  
"I dare not say, for it would only make you dream of her, and long for her. You can never have her, Legolas, no one may. It is sad, but it is destined to be so." 


	3. Preparing for Battle

~*~ A/N: Hey, here's the third part. If you noticed, I renamed the story to just "Blackthorne". Anyway, I've been getting a lot of help from my friend "Lil" on this one, so I wants to thank her, and thank you for reading! PS: Please Reveiw this story, it only has one reveiw! :-D Thanks! *~*~  
  
  
Loriana pulled her gaze from the window, and turned, walking silently to her bed. She took her sword, and set it onto the floor. Removing her dress, she slid between the sheets, sighing between the softness.   
  
"You go off to battle tomorrow," she said to herself. "Best get some sleep whilst you can. For you know not when you will sleep in a bed again."  
  
  
As the sun rose the next morning, Loriana stirred. She opened her eyes, taking a moment to remember where she was - Rivendell, the House of Elrond, and she was going off to battle today. She stood quickly, removing herself from the soft sheets and stretching her arms above her head. She headed for the bath room, and washed her hands. Hearing Raelinda in the bedroom, she waited for a moment, watching her own reflection.   
  
Opening the door, she saw the clothing left for her - a green elvish dress. Shaking her head, she called for Raelinda.  
  
"Yes, Lady?" the elvish woman asked, opening the door.  
  
"I thank you for the dress, but I cannot wear that to go to battle - I require, instead, pants and a shirt, several would probably be best. Also, I need a pack."  
  
"Of course, m'lady," replied Raelinda, retrieving the dress and leaving the room. Loriana sat in a chair, brushing out her long hair while she waited. Minutes later, Raelinda returned with a pair of forest green pants and a lighter shirt.  
  
"Lord Elrond will give you your pack, along with armor and a horse, when you meet the rest of the party downstairs. They request your arrival within the hour."  
  
"Thank you, Raelinda," Loriana said with a grateful smile. "I know not if I will see you again, but I thank you regardless for your help."  
  
The elvish woman bowed, returning the smile. "Ta nae seasamin." From the very little bit of Elvish that Loriana knew, she could tell that meant "It was my pleasure." Then, the woman was gone.  
  
Loriana slipped into the clothes, and attached her belt. Taking up her sword, she slid it into the sheath.   
  
"Into battle," she said, her voice thick with both sadness and determination, as she walked out the door.  
  
  
"Does she not know of the prophecy?" asked Aragorn, his eyebrows raised. He and Elrond spoke in hushed tones, away from the rest of the party. They expected her any moment, and did not want anyone else to hear their conversation.   
  
"No, she does not. And she will not know, for we do not know how she would react if she did," replied Elrond, shaking his head. "And, I have a bit of advice for you, friend."  
  
"And I shall take whatever advice you could give me."  
  
"Leave the name 'Aragorn' here. For we know not how the steward of Gondor and his sons would react to Isildur's heir. Go instead by a different name."  
  
"That is most wise, Lord Elrond. We must be sure to tell all - from here on, call me not Aragorn, but Strider."  
  
It was then that Loriana stepped into their view; clad in green, with her long hair waving behind her. Aragorn smiled softly, and turned to Elrond.  
  
"I love her like a sister," he said quietly. Elrond nodded, patting him on the back.  
  
"I know, Strider."  
  
  
When they gathered, they saw that their numbers were great - there stood, in a large room of Elrond's house, at least ten score soldiers, for many other Rangers had arrived at the House over the night. Besides Loriana, all other were men or male elves. To say she stood out would be an incredible understatement. However, even the Rangers from afar had heard of her - and that she was, indeed, the Blackthorne that prophecy spoke of.   
  
Firstly, a bit about this prophecy. It is written, in the book of Gondor, that the final member of the Blackthorne family, who had defended the helpless of Middle-Earth since the first coming of man, would defend the fair White City, and save it. It is also said that this warrior would bear no children in his lifetime. The tale of the Blackthorne is known throughout the lands, by all who study lore, from the Great Sea to the very fires of Mordor. However, until just then, it was unknown what the last of this great family would defend against - but now, with the threat of orcs, trolls, and other worse creatures befalling Gondor, it was quite clear. Loriana was to do battle with the beasts, and it was in her that many placed their last hopes.  
  
  
Veerle gracefully descended the steps, down into the hall in which the warriors gathered. Her white dress trail followed her elegantly, her long hair flowing gently behind her. Several soldiers glanced up, their eyes filled with awe, and some with attraction. Veerle dismissed them from her thoughts, though, as she neared her brother.  
  
He glanced up, smiling as his sweet, innocent sister filled the hearts of men with want and desire. He was restringing his bow, careful as always of the family heirloom. His father before him had used it, and his before him. It was the bow of kings, as he was the heir of kings.  
  
"Iire lle auta?*" she asked, in their own tongue, the soft Elvish words flowing from her lips like water off the falls.  
  
"Ale' lye tela sinome,**" he replied, looking up from his bow. His sister took his hand, smiling up at her brother.  
  
~*~*( * - When are you leaving? ** - When we are finished here. ) ~*~*  
  
"I am going with you," she said, and he looked up in amazement. "At least, for a while, until the path turns north to Mirkwood. I will ride with your band, and then depart to my own ways."  
  
"As you wish, dear Veerle," replied Legolas, finishing with his bow. He set it aside, and truly looked at his sister for the first time. "My sister, you look dismayed. What is wrong?"  
  
"Nothing, dear brother. At least, nothing I know yet of."  
  
"You tell me not the truth," he replied, sitting down. "If you wish not to tell me, I cannot make you; however, I could give you advice."  
  
"Fine, Legolas, since you did not insist I shall tell you but a little; it involves a man."  
  
"You say man, and mean not an elf. This that dismays you involves a mortal, does it not?"  
  
"Much involves mortals now, Legolas. For you yourself were defeated by one just yesterday." She smiled playfully down at him, but his brow furrowed. "Something troubles you as well. Does it involve this Blackthorne? For I saw how you gazed upon her at the feast, but I thought nothing of it. Perhaps I should have."  
  
"Nae, you were correct the first time," came a voice from behind her, and she turned, seeing Loriana standing there, her arms crossed over her chest. "If you think you sensed romance, think again, for you are wrong. In a Blackthorne's life, there is no love but that for the hunt, for the fighting. If you wish, I will give you advice -" she waited no more than a moment, before she continued, "Nae, not if you wish, for I will give it to you anyway - and if you do not want to take it, then that is your judgment to make. If you find yourself falling in love, which I believe you are, for the twinkle in your eyes gives you away, be not afraid of it. For the ability to love is a gift, and one that should not be taken lightly. It is your destiny to love, and be not afraid to follow it. Heed this advice, from someone who has not the luxuries you have."  
  
  
Loriana returned to her place, beside Elrond and Aragorn, who were organizing their plans. Unsheathing her sword, she took her sharpening stone and a cloth from her pack, and began to sharpen and clean the blade. It was a broadsword, made of silver and iron. She shined it until it glimmered, and sharpened it greatly. The handle was also silver and iron, with a groove for one's hand. Thorns were carved into the metal up each side - the Blackthorne sword. She glanced up, catching Boromir's eye watching the sword. She stood up, returning the sword to her sheath, and approached Boromir.  
  
"Tell me, son of Gondor, why do you watch my sword so?"  
  
"It is the sword of the Blackthorne, spoke about throughout all of my lands. Many long to see it their entire lives."  
  
"Well then, perchance you should like to hold it for a moment, if you are in such awe," she offered, unsheathing it. Boromir's eyes widened, and he nodded. She pressed the sword's cool handle into his hand. He held it up for a moment, watching the light shimmer off it in awe. After a moment, he handed it back, astonished when it glowed lightly in Loriana's hand.   
  
"I daresay it prefers you to me," said Boromir, smirking.   
  
"Indeed," she smiled, and returned the sword to it's sheath. She turned and walked back to her pack, rechecking to make sure all her supplies were in order.  
  
"That was quite friendly of you," she heard the voice behind her, and knew immediately that it was Aragorn.  
  
"Was it?" she replied, turning to face him.  
  
"Yes, indeed. I approach because I have a favor to ask of you. From this moment on, could you call me Strider instead of my right name? I have already requested that all else do the same."  
  
"I will oblige, but I know not why you ask this."  
  
"Need you?" he replied with a smile. She shook her head.  
  
"Nae, I suppose not," she grinned, and bent, picking up her pack. "I have a confession to make, A- Strider."  
  
He raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"  
  
"The name Strider makes you sound like a horse."  
  
He let out a laugh, and shook his head.  
  
"You are truly a Blackthorne, for I see your father's spirit within you."  
  
Loriana looked down, the grin from her face falling quickly.  
  
"I'm sorry, Loriana. I meant not to upset you," he said, placing a hand on her shoulder.   
  
"I have no family left, Strider. Do you know what that is like? Suddenly, to have everything you've known taken away? Do you have any idea?"  
  
He shook his head. "No, I haven't. For I was raised here, by the Lord Elrond, and he is here still. Yet there may be a day when he is not. And if you are truly without family, then allow me to become yours. I shall be as a brother to you, for I already love you like one." 


	4. Departing Rivendell

~*~* A/N: All right, here's the fourth part! :-D I hope you like it, and please please please Reveiw! :-D Thanks! *~*~  
  
  
Elrond stood before the hundreds who were set out to leave. He would stay in Rivendell, for if the defenses in Minas Tirith failed, he would need to defend his own city. Face ridden with concern, he began to speak.  
  
"Today you will set out from Rivendell, and journey to Minas Tirith, the White City of Gondor, to defend her against the very evils of Mordor. Take with you courage, bravery, nobility, and honor, for you defend not only Gondor, but the races of men, elves, and dwarves. You shall be lead by the Ranger known as Strider, by the son of Gondor Boromir, and by a third, a most unlikely companion for all of you. But her sword is true and her fate our own. You all surely know of whom I speak - Loriana Blackthorne, the daughter of the brave Jilikius. I beg of you, do not see her as a mere girl as I once did - see her instead as perhaps the savior of Gondor, and of us all. Strider, Boromir, and Loriana will instruct you along the way. Be brave, be true, and fight without mercy against all who do Sauron's bidding."  
  
  
Those who were to remain in Rivendell lined the streets as the armies left for The White City. Shouts of praise, of good luck, and of "Namaarie" filled the crisp air, as Loriana mounted her horse, rather uneasily.  
  
Legolas, however, jumped onto his, without harness or bridle. Glancing at Loriana, he smiled, for she held onto the reigns for dear life.  
  
"Pray tell me that you've ridden a horse," he said, and Loriana's head jerked to look at him.  
  
"Of course I've ridden a horse," she scoffed, and then sheepishly added, "Actually, it was a pony and I was but a girl. But I think I shall quickly learn."  
  
Legolas laughed, the sweet sound escaping his delicate lips. Loriana looked down, then saw Legolas lean over, and whisper something to the horse, soft Elvish words.  
  
"You better not be telling the horse to jolt me, Prince Legolas," she said with a smirk.  
  
"Why do you call me that?" he wondered aloud. "I know I am a prince, but none but you call me so."  
  
"It is so she will not forget," came Veerle's voice from behind them as she rode up on her white horse.  
  
"Are you going to join us? Ride into Gondor, perhaps, and defend the White City?" asked Loriana, sarcasm dripping from her words.  
  
"Of course not, that would be folly - for you are the only girl who fights. I am merely riding with your band, and my brother, until the path turns northward to Mirkwood."  
  
Loriana began to respond, but was called to the front by Boromir and Strider. She mumbled something to the horse, and looked to Legolas for aide.  
  
"Poke at it's side with your foot," he offered gently, amazed that *the* Blackthorne, from prophecy and legend, could not ride a horse. She obliged, and the horse trode up to the front. Pulling on it's reigns, she stopped it.  
  
"We are deciding on a route to take," said Strider, offering a small smile. Loriana nodded.  
  
"Then I shall leave that to you, for I am not knowledgeable with maps."  
  
"Indeed," replied Boromir. He and Strider spoke for a few more moments, and at last came up with the best route to take. Shouting to the rest of the army, Strider told the route. As he spoke, Boromir and Loriana stood beside him. Boromir's eyes, dark and worried, met Veerle's, hers light and fair in contrast. They seemed to speak to him, and he found himself taken, with her innocent beauty and timeless splendor. He swallowed, willing himself to look away but unable, as a magnet drawn to another. And she returned his gaze, much to the surprise of the mortal man. He stood, unable to look away or speak for several moments, then their longing gaze was interrupted by Legolas. He crossed in front of his sister, but whether it was to break the gaze or simply to get a better view, Boromir could not tell. But then Legolas' eyes, the grey color of a rain cloud, met his own, and Boromir felt a sense of questioning and accusal in them.   
  
As Strider gave words of encouragement, his eyes met Loriana's. He caught a twinkle in them, momentarily, then she drove it back out, dullness and a sense of nonchalance taking it's place. She turned then to look upon the army, and was startled to find Legolas' eyes on her, their greyness immortal and deep, naïve and jaded, happy and sad all at once. She couldn't help but gaze back for but a moment, then tore her eyes away. She looked down, giving a short sigh.   
  
Elrond stood beside the road that led out of Rivendell, and bid them a fond farewell, a safe journey, and victory.  
  
  
The company set out, with Loriana, Boromir, and Aragorn at the front. Legolas and Veerle rode straight behind them, and behind them the rest rode, in a line three or four horses wide. As they crossed a bridge, leading out to Rivendell, Loriana opened her eyes for the first time to the great beauty of the land, for earlier she had been too riddled with grief to notice the exquisite trees, the marvelous river, and the other wonders that Rivendell held. She wished she could stay, and enjoy them a bit longer.   
  
"Strider, you shall have to come back with me," she said, turning to glance at him. "And show me the beauty of Rivendell."  
  
He nodded, smiling softly. "Indeed, it is a promise. One day, after the fighting and warring is over, we shall return, together, my sister."  
  
They passed out of Rivendell, and even the elves with the keenest sight could no longer see it when they turned to gaze back. They were to keep going south for as long as they could, and then turn east, keeping to the west of the tallest mountains; however they would still have to pass through Redhorn, and try not to induce the anger of Caradharas. Luckily, it was barely autumn when they set out, and not winter, for their journey would be much easier.  
  
  
They rode hard for a great part of the morning, stopping at noon for a rest and a lunch. Loriana sat alone, leaning against a tree. She ate a piece of bread and drank water from her flask, but had little else, for she was still full from the large breakfast in Rivendell. She leaned back, folding her hands behind her head. She watched the rest of the army silently.  
  
Veerle glanced over, seeing Loriana watch the rest of them. She walked, her feet silent on the grass underneath them. Loriana saw her approach, raising her eyebrows.  
  
"Greetings," spoke the elf softly, sitting beside Loriana without invitation.   
  
"Hello, Veerle," said Loriana coldly, not looking at her.  
  
"I should think you're cross with me, and yet I know not why."  
  
Loriana shook her head. "I'm not cross, I just do not wish to speak with you."  
  
"And why is that?"  
  
Loriana paused for a moment. "I just wish not to."  
  
"Is it because of Legolas?" Veerle pried, and Loriana turned to glare at her.  
  
"Legolas is not of my concern," she said, her voice shaking despite her best efforts to steady it.   
  
"I should beg to differ," said Veerle wisely, returning Loriana's glare.  
  
"What business is it of yours?" demanded Loriana, her voice hard as her glare.   
  
"Legolas is my brother, and I want not for his heart to ache, for a broken heart is lethal to Elves."  
  
"It hurts quite a bit for humans as well," Loriana said, glancing down, her voice breaking for a moment. Veerle reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder.  
  
"I wish-" started Loriana, but stopped herself.  
  
"I know, Loriana. We all know, but Legolas doesn't quite understand why Valar would make you suffer so."   
  
Loriana shrugged, fighting her tears back; for she, as well, had wondered that many times. Veerle stood, and left Loriana alone to think for the few moments before they continued on their journey. 


	5. An Attack

~*~*A/N: Hey, everyone. Thanks for reading, and pwease reveiw! Thanks!*~*~  
  
  
The hour grew late, and after many miles, the company stopped for the night. Strider, Boromir, and Loriana agreed to be on guard first, then to awaken Legolas, and two other elven men to relieve them. Loriana posted herself at the southern end of the company, and Strider at the northern. Boromir patrolled about in a wide circle on his horse.  
  
Loriana stood, her eyes darting about. Something seemed wrong, she thought as she was overcome by a feeling of danger. She started, turning around and drew her sword.   
  
The sound of a horse, seemingly in pain, and a man's shout filled the air. Loriana peered into the darkness from whence it came, then ran toward it.   
  
"Boromir!" she shouted, realizing what had happened the moment she heard the wolf's howl. As she neared, she saw his horse on the ground, bleeding. Boromir was lying near it, unwounded for the moment. Four wolves were surrounding him.  
  
Letting out a cry, Loriana rushed toward them, swinging her sword. She killed one, and then the other three dove at her. She was knocked to the ground by one, but kicked it off quickly. Boromir got up from the ground, and drew his sword. Loriana stood, as two of the wolves dove at her once more. She managed to kill one, but the other was flying straight toward her neck.  
  
A sharp "twang" sounded from several feet away, and the wolf fell from the air just a foot from Loriana, an arrow protruding from it's neck. Boromir slew the other wolf, as Loriana turned. Legolas stood by a tree, his bow still in hand, already another arrow notched.   
  
  
They returned to the camp. Both Loriana and Boromir had cuts, and the horse was lost. Boromir had a rather large wound on his side, and Loriana had a large scratch along her face. It could have been worse, Loriana realized. It was folly to charge into the darkness - had their been many more wolves.. Or had Legolas not been nearby… Loriana did not want to think what may have happened.  
  
Strider shook his head at them, Loriana especially. Elven healers, Veerle and a male elf, saw to Boromir. Loriana waved off the healer who approached her; she merely used her sleeve to wipe the blood from her cheek.  
  
"You'll most likely have that scar for your life," said Strider, smirking.  
  
"However long that may be," Loriana said softly, shaking her head. "That was so very foolish of me. I could very well be injured or worse… if it hadn't been for Legolas…"  
  
Strider smiled, and nodded. "We must thank him."  
  
"Aye," murmured Loriana, and then gazed off into the sky.  
  
  
Veerle wet a cloth and pressed it against Boromir's wound. He lay on the ground, his shirt removed. His bare muscular chest seemed to glimmer in the starlight. She knelt beside him. He groaned lightly, and she shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips.  
  
"Whatever happened to you, Boromir?" she asked.  
  
"Wolves," he muttered, and closed his eyes, wincing a little.  
  
"It is a rather nasty wound, but it shall heal," she assured him, and he opened one eye, smiling up at her.  
  
"Thank you, sweet Veerle," he said softly, and she ran her soft hand across his cheek. He once again closed both his eyes, inhaling deeply her scent. She pulled her hand away just then, and wet the cloth again, pressed it against him.  
  
"You are so beautiful," Boromir said softly, watching her radiance in the starlight. She glanced away, and nodded to the male elf who approached.  
  
"Bandages," he said simply, and handed them to her. She smiled, replying in Elvish, and the other elf left. Veerle pulled the cloth away from Boromir, and instructed him to sit up.  
  
He did so, with some effort, and she wrapped the bandages around his abdomen, carefully and gently. She smiled softly.   
  
"There you are, sir Boromir," she said, moving to stand.  
  
"Veerle, wait a moment and talk with me. For, a few minutes with you would heal me better than all the elves in Rivendell," he added with a smile. She returned it, and sat beside him.  
  
"Very well, what wouldst you like to talk about?"  
  
"Anything, as long as it's with you," he replied, tucking a wisp of hair gently behind her ear.   
  
"Boromir, we can't-" she started, but was cut off when he kissed her. Softly at first, and although she at first pulled away, she was soon kissing him in return. He pressed a hand against her cheek, caressing it's softness tenderly.   
  
They broke apart, Boromir touching her soft lips with his thumb. She murmured against it, and sighed contentedly. He kissed her again, this time with passion. She wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him back intensely. Slowly, gently, he pulled her down, to lay beside him on the ground.  
  
Moans were heard, mostly Boromir's: for it was said that romance of this sort with an Elf was incredibly pleasurable for a human. They were heard for a long time, and finally they died down as the sun rose above the mountain tops. Boromir held Veerle in his arms protectively, lovingly. She rested her head on his chest, asleep. They were both rather naked, having cast off their clothes in the midst of the passion of the night before.   
  
  
Loriana woke up, her face hurting and back contorted in one of the most unusual positions ever. She groaned, and sat up. The suns rays were about to shine upon them, and she was one of the first awake; besides the elves, of course, who could also sense the sunrise nearing, and were awake as well.  
  
She groaned once more, standing. Her back popped, and she grumbled. She had insisted that she needn't a blanket to lay upon, she was used to the ground. Indeed, she was; however, that was grassy ground, and this was ground full of rocks, twigs, and other things. She bent, touching her palms to the ground, trying to stretch her back into a normal shape.   
  
She heard a snicker from behind her, and she straightened and turned quickly.  
  
"Rather interesting, you are," said Strider, shaking his head.  
  
"I'll show you interesting," she grumbled, and stretched once more. The suns' rays shone over the mountaintops, and men began to stir. She walked to Strider. They began to converse about the day's journey.  
  
"Where's Boromir?" asked Strider, looking around. "We should consult him as well."  
  
"I have not seen him since last night," said Loriana, glancing about.   
  
Legolas jogged up to them just then. "Have you seen Veerle? I cannot find her."  
  
"No," replied both Strider and Loriana, and Strider continued, "Have you seen Boromir?"  
  
Loriana thought for a moment, then shook her head. "Oi," she said softly, and pointed in the direction that the healers were the night before, several hundred yards away.  
  
"I believe we'll find both there," she said, and shook her head. Legolas started off in a trot, not thinking the same thing that Loriana had. He approached the clearing where Boromir and Veerle lay, just awaking under the sun.   
  
As soon as he saw them, they saw him. Boromir glanced around, struggling to find any means of cover, but none could be found. Legolas looked away quickly, his grey eyes becoming dark with rage. He quickly swallowed it back.  
  
"We are readying to leave," he said in a cold, indifferent voice. Then, he turned and walked back down to where the company was getting ready.  
  
"Oh no," murmured Veerle, even as she was receiving a kiss from Boromir.  
  
  
Legolas stood, waiting for the others to get ready, gazing out into the sky. He was thoughtful, pondering answers in his head. Veerle approached him from behind, quietly, but he still noticed her presence.  
  
"Legolas-" she began, but was cut off when he turned to her.   
  
"I wish not to speak to you now.. I wish not to speak to anyone now," he said coldly, and then walked back to the rest of the army. 


	6. Redhorn

~*~* A/N: Chapter Six is here! *grin* *~*~  
  
  
  
"Today we will reach Redhorn," said Strider, looking at the mountains that loomed above them. They pushed on through the rest of the day, beginning the climb. Loriana was beginning to master the art of horseback, and Veerle was sharing her horse with Boromir, who was not accustomed to riding without saddle, but got used to it quickly.   
  
That night, they found a place guarded by trees to camp. Legolas sat by the fire, staring at a point within it. Veerle watched him from several feet away, and turned to Boromir.  
  
"I cannot stand to hurt him," she said, looking up at the young man.  
  
"I don't like to see him in pain, either. Perhaps I should talk to him."  
  
"No, that would do no good," she said wisely, and sighed.   
  
"Maybe I shouldn't love you," Boromir said after a moment, and looked away. Veerle's eyes widened.  
  
"Nae, my love," she said, reaching up and caressing his cheek. "I wish not to hurt my brother, but my need to love you is stronger than my will not to. I will ask someone to speak with him for me. Perchance she can make him see."  
  
  
"Wow.. You and Boromir did that?" asked Loriana, a small smirk playing on her soft lips.  
  
"That is not why I came to you," replied Veerle, sighing. "Legolas, he saw us in a most precarious position, and he is quite hurt, and angry."  
  
"Why are you telling me this?" asked Loriana, her brow furrowing.  
  
"I would like if you would talk to him for me - for us," said Veerle, looking at Loriana pleadingly. "Please?"  
  
Loriana shook her head, "Nae, I will not become involved in this."  
  
"I know you are hesitant, but please, Loriana. Legolas is so hurt right now, if not for us then do this for him."  
  
Loriana grumbled, and then finally nodded. "I'll speak with him tomorrow night, for it is late and I tire from the journey."  
  
Veerle smiled. "Thank you, fair warrior Loriana."  
  
"Kind words will get you nothing else from me, Veerle," Loriana smirked once more.  
  
  
Loriana lay down in a grassy patch, gazing up at the stars. About her, men and elves spoke quietly or slept, but she could not get any rest. She instead inspected the heavens, in thought.   
  
"I am going into war," she thought, "but I feel as if I've fought already. I fight with myself everyday, to stop myself from submitting to his icy stare, his golden radiance. I cannot love, it is written; Aragorn thinks I have not seen the prophecy, and he is true; but I've heard tell of it, from my father. If I am the one that prophecy speaks of, then I shall die without ever having love, without experiencing anything that Veerle or Boromir have. Truly it is sad, for I do not want to die so young, so alone."   
  
  
Boromir sighed, throwing a stone into the fire. It crackled, shooting a spark to the sand by his foot. He mumbled something inaudible, and bent to pick up another stone.  
  
"Something troubles you," observed Aragorn, looking up from his place several feet away.   
  
"Indeed," replied Boromir.  
  
"Do you wish to speak about it?"  
  
"It's Veerle."  
  
"Ah.. Yes, I'd heard the news of you and she. I was rather curious, to be honest."  
  
"She thinks I don't love her."  
  
Aragorn raised his eyebrows. "But you do."  
  
"More than anything," replied Boromir, sighing and casting a stone into the fire.   
  
"Why don't you tell her?"   
  
Boromir shrugged, and stood. "She is amazing. Mark my words, Strider - if you ever get the opportunity to love an elf.. Take it." Aragorn smiled softly, and nodded.  
  
"I may."  
  
"I shall talk to her," Boromir said softly, his eyes fixed upon the flame. "And I shall tell her precisely what it is I feel."  
  
  
The next morning, they awoke, and began the climb. Although it was barely autumn, the mountain was already thick with snow, up to many of the men's knees. For Loriana, it was especially difficult; being a human girl, she was shorter than the rest by several inches, and the snow reached the middle of her thigh. Still, she drove on, complaining not once, even when she could no longer feel her toes. At long last, they reached the zenith of the mountain, and started the climb down.   
  
Loriana grumbled, warming her toes with her hands when the company stopped for a short rest. Strider smiled, and shook his head.  
  
"Cold?" he asked, eyes twinkling with laughter. She glared daggers back, and straightened.  
  
"Let us go quickly, I'd like to reach the bottom before nightfall," she said, starting to walk down the mountain. The rest followed her.  
  
  
They barely reached the bottom by the time the sun's last rays vanished into the horizon. Loriana sat beside the fire, eating an apple thoughtfully. She was startled by the voice behind her.  
  
"Does something bother you?" he asked, placing a slender hand upon her shoulder.  
  
"No. I could ask the same of you," she responded, and stood. "Let us go speak in private." She led him several feet away, underneath a large tree.  
  
"I know it isn't my place to say anything-" she started, but Legolas cut her off.  
  
"You're right, it is not. However, I know Veerle would have you speak to me, and I will try to listen."  
  
She cleared her throat, and nodded. "It's just, you are so hurt and angry, both Veerle and Boromir worry for you."  
  
"And you?" he asked, catching her eyes, his own dark, as if a shadow had befallen them. "Do you worry for me?"  
  
She glanced away, shrugging slightly. "I worry for all of our company."  
  
"That is not what I mean, and you know it."  
  
"Legolas, I wish not to talk about this. I asked to speak with you, so that I might talk about Veerle and Boromir." Legolas turned his back on her, but did not move away.  
  
"I am not angry with her," he said softly, looking down. "I am jealous of her, and jealousy is not a trait one of my race should have."  
  
Loriana, against her best judgment, reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder. He sighed softly, and turned to her. She could see tears beginning to form in his eyes, now a soft grey color.  
  
"Oh Legolas," she said gently, as he fell, kneeling before her and holding her tightly. His body shuddered with tears, a display of emotions so powerful and immense that only an elf could have. She closed her eyes, feeling the strong urge to cry herself. After several long moments, he stood. She reached up, wiping the tears from his cheeks.   
  
"If things were different-" started Legolas, but Loriana placed a finger over his lips.  
  
"Don't, Legolas. You will only cause yourself to wish them so." He swallowed back more tears, and nodded. Loriana sighed, glancing down, then took his hand in hers. Giving it a soft squeeze, she looked into his eyes.  
  
"Do not despair," she said softly, her eyes going past his barriers and into his soul, "For, even though I am destined not to find love, you do not share my fate. One day, Legolas, you will love another, and will be able to have her."  
  
Then, she dropped his hand. He took a deep breath, and turned, leaving her by the tree alone.   
  
Always alone. 


	7. The Departure of Veerle

~*~* A/N: It took me a few days, but here it is! :-D The latest installment! *~*~  
  
  
Days turned to weeks, weeks to months, as the company pushed on toward Gondor. Boromir's mouth wore a scowl, in worry for his city. Veerle's eyes seemed not to bear the same radiant love they had before. Since the night they spent together, they had spoken no more of it, both thinking that the other was not in love.   
  
It was as night was falling that they came upon a fork in the road - one way led north, and one continued east. Veerle looked upon the path she was to take the next morning. The company settled for the night there. Loriana fell asleep quickly, for she was exhausted, both physically and mentally. The past weeks had been a challenge, seeing Legolas every day, and remembering how he held her and cried into her, showing her his weakness, weakness from a being that Loriana thought had none.   
  
Veerle sat beside a fire, thinking. "Oh Valar," she murmured softly, then felt his eyes on her, penetrating and intense. She looked up, and there he stood, an intelligible expression on his face. Without speaking, he sat beside her, taking her hand.  
  
"I know what it is you think, Veerle," he whispered.  
  
"Do you, Boromir?" she responded, turning away. "I think you do not."  
  
"You think I do not love you," he said, and she turned back.  
  
"Then are my thoughts true?" She could barely say this, instead whispering it. Boromir shook his head, and, leaning forward, whispered into her pointed ear.  
  
"I love you more than anything, more than life or even Gondor. It frightens me, to have something this, this intense and real, but I do have it. And I feel it. I hoped you knew without my saying it, but I would say it a thousand times over. I love you, Veerle, and you alone." He gulped back a tear, and continued. "I wish only to be with you, but I know you must leave in the morrow, and you know I must go to defend my city. Alas that this war must take place - but perhaps not, for if it hadn't, I may never have met you. And I would rather fight a thousand wars than not have the chance to love you." A tear fell from his cheek, sliding onto Veerle's shoulder.  
  
"Oh Boromir," she said softly, and took his face in her hands. "I love you as much, or perhaps more, and I wish only that I did not have to go back to Mirkwood. I could travel with you; help you defend your city."  
  
"No, Veerle," he shook his head softly. "For I would fear for your life, more than I would fear for mine." Another tear escaped his dark eyes, and fell. "I wish not to leave you, Veerle."  
  
She placed her lips to his cheek, kissing his tear away. "Amongst my people, if you show emotion, cry, as you call it, in front of another, it means you love them dearly, and would die for their safety. I feel myself succumbing to tears, and when Elves cry, it seems that their entire bodies do, not just their eyes." Boromir placed his head on her shoulder, allowing his tears to fall freely.  
  
"I am so lost," he whimpered quietly. "And torn between my city and my love. I would go to Mirkwood with you, if there wasn't such a war. And the moment it is over, I shall go to you."  
  
"I know, my sweet," she said softly, kissing his forehead. "I know."  
  
  
Legolas watched his sister and her love, his eyes dark. He looked down, gulping back more tears.   
  
"I cannot be jealous any longer," he said softly. "I must be glad that she has found what I could not; true love, deep and everlasting, intense and real. Alas for the prophecy, alas!"  
  
  
As the sun was rising the next morning, Boromir was awake to face it. He gulped, a bead of sweat dropping from his forehead. He glanced across the camp, and saw Veerle just rising from her bed in the grass. Sighing nervously, he approached her. It seemed as though the rest of the company stood and watched, as he smiled anxiously at the Elven woman.  
  
"Uh.. Hello!" he said, and she smiled, raising her eyebrows.  
  
"Good morning."  
  
"Uh.." He stopped, thinking, and gulped once more. "Um.. Veerle?" She laughed.  
  
"Yes, Boromir?"  
  
"Uh, can I ask you a question?" Eyes twinkling, she nodded. Gulping once more, he lowered himself to one knee. Boromir reached up and took Veerle's hand.   
  
"Uh.. Um.. Uh, Will you.. Can you.. Um.. " he cleared his throat, and started again. "I really love you, and I, Oh, dear Valar," he paused, and, taking a deep breath, blurted it all out, "Will you marry me, Veerle?"  
  
"Of course, Boromir, I will marry you," she smiled, and pulled him up to his feet.  
  
"Oh, dear Valar," were his last words, before his eyes closed and he fell over.  
  
"Veerle! You killed him!" said Loriana, only half-jokingly.  
  
"Oh, I did not, silly girl," replied Veerle, kneeling beside Boromir. She lowered her mouth to his, pressing their lips together gently. His eyes opened.  
  
"Did I just propose?" he asked when their kiss was broken.  
  
"Aye," said Veerle, smiling down at him.  
  
"And you said yes?" he asked, and she grinned.  
  
"Why not ask me again?" He laughed, and shook his head.   
  
"That time almost killed me, sweet Veerle." This drew another kiss from Veerle, planted on the man's forehead.  
  
"Stand up, Boromir," she said softly, and he did so. She however, remained upon her knees.  
  
"Boromir, son of Denethor, Son of Gondor," she smiled, taking his hand, and gazing lovingly up at him. "Would you make my dreams come true, and marry me?" Boromir responded by lifting the Elven woman into his arms, placing loving kisses on her lips.  
  
The company exploded into applause, Elves and Men alike touched by these events. Legolas caught himself watching Loriana, who had a happy, but pained expression on her face. Though she shed no tears, her eyes spoke of sadness and grief beyond their knowledge. Loriana turned her head slightly, and smiled at Legolas. Then, with a sigh, she turned back, and watched as the newly-engaged couple continued to kiss.  
  
  
Eventually, Veerle and Boromir broke apart, Boromir with a sheepish smile on his face. Then it was to be decided what to do next. They came to the conclusion that Veerle would go ahead to Mirkwood, to prepare for the wedding, and Boromir would go to Gondor, to tell his father of the news, and then journey north to Mirkwood, to be married. They parted with another series of kisses, much to the amusement of much of the company. Veerle rode off into the distance, and Boromir watched her until she faded out of his eyesight.   
  
"Now I must decide whose horse I shall share," said Boromir softly, and Strider smiled.  
  
"A volunteer has already made himself known," he replied simply, gesturing to Legolas.  
  
Boromir and Legolas shared a brotherly hug, for they soon were to be brothers-in-law, and then they set off.  
  
  
Silver trumpets greeted the company to Minas Tirith, after the company broke through a small wall of orcs without much effort. The walls of the City opened wide, and the army rode in, almost 200 strong. Boromir smiled at several people in the crowd, whom he obviously knew. Strider looked up in astonishment at the White City. Even Loriana, who had tried to seem as stoic as possible throughout this entire ordeal, gasped in amazement.  
  
Boromir grinned as he dismounted the horse he shared with Legolas, and approached an older man waiting in the center of the town.  
  
"Father!" he exclaimed, glad to see him, and bowed in respect.  
  
"My son, I see you have brought an army with you," the older man smiled, and embraced his son in a hug.   
  
"Aye, father, an army worthy of Gondor," Boromir responded, as the rest of their company dismounted, horses whisked away to the stables to be fed and looked after.  
  
"Indeed, for I have heard tell of a Blackthorne in your midst," replied the man, glancing the company over. Loriana, of course, with her long red hair and small frame, stood out quite a bit. "That is perhaps her."  
  
Loriana, head bowed, approached the man, Steward of Gondor. She knelt before him, speaking in a low but strong voice. "Lord Denethor, Steward of Gondor, it is an honor to be of service to you."  
  
The other man smiled, and bowed his head. "Lady Blackthorne, it is I who should be honored, for the arrival of The Blackthorne has been long anticipated."  
  
It was then that Farimir, brother of Boromir, approached the company. He and Denethor told the army of the fate that had befallen Gondor in the past months. The armies that Gondor had drove the armies of orcs and worse back, almost to the border of Gondor, but had suffered many losses. Boromir was saddened to hear of the loss of one of his friends, one dear to him since childhood.  
  
"Alas, father, with all the excitement, I'd nearly forgotten to tell you!" Exclaimed Boromir, shaking his head. "Father, I met a woman, a wonderful, beautiful woman, and I am to be married."  
  
His father's face once again brightened with a smile.  
  
"Well, where is this woman who has stolen my son's heart?"  
  
"She had to return to her home," said Boromir, "And I am to go there as soon as I can, so we can be wed."  
  
"Where is her home? Oh, Boromir, tell me it isn't Bree. The people in that place are dreadfully unkempt."  
  
Boromir laughed, and shook his head. "Nae, father, she is of Mirkwood."  
  
His father's eyes widened, and he sputtered for a moment. "Boromir, son, is she an elf?"  
  
Boromir nodded. "Aye, father. Veerle, princess of Mirkwood. Legolas, with whom I shared a horse, is her brother."  
  
Denethor's face remained shocked, but then it stirred. "I must be off," he said simply, and, turning, stalked off toward his chambers. Boromir's face fell. Legolas put a reassuring hand upon his shoulder.  
  
  
"This, this.." Denethor was still sputtering as he flipped through a large book. He stopped briefly on the page about The Blackthorne, but, turning another page, continued on. Reading the heading of the page he stopped at, his eyes widened still. It was the last page of the book, for after it, none could be foreseen.  
  
"A union, beautiful and wondrous, between two races, will bring peace and honor to all involved, until it crumbles beyond the gates of The White City, and all of Middle Earth will begin it's fall."   
  
Denethor closed the book, covered with dust. With a short sigh, he looked down at the title.. "Prophecies of Gondor." He then stood, turning toward the window.  
  
The scouts returned, bringing good tidings - the armies of Mordor had disappeared into the East. And although the danger was not completely gone, for they were sure to return, a little releif was got. Boromir, Farimir, Strider, Loriana, and Denethor decided that they would travel to Mirkwood the next day, with Legolas as their guide. A large group of men and elves bid them farewell, as they journeyed north.  
  
  
Veerle sat inside her room, looking at her reflection in the mirror. With a sigh, she allowed a stray hand journey over her stomache. The door opened, and without glancing up she knew it was her dearest and closest friend, Malfriour.   
  
"Are you well?" the other elf asked, a note of concern playing on her face. She had long brown hair, glimmering light blue eyes, and a fair complexion, an appearance slightly similar to Veerle, although Malfriour was a little taller.   
  
"Aye," said Veerle softly, turning a little in her chair. Malfriour smiled, and sat beside her.  
  
"Then why do you seem so depressed as of late?"  
  
"Oh, Malfriour, I have not yet told my father of this union, and Boromir will be arriving rather soon. I know not what he will say, and I am deeply concerned. And I hold deep within another secret, one that I cannot tell."  
  
"Veerle, you must tell your father, and quickly. For, I feel the presence of your beloved approaching. King Thranduil is noble and honorable - he will embrace Boromir as you have."  
  
"Thank you, dear Malfriour," said Veerle, and her friend smiled back.   
  
"Go now and tell him."  
  
  
Veerle walked with soft feet down the hall. When she reached her father's chamber, she knocked on the door gently, taking a deep breath. She heard her father's strong voice command, "Enter", and she did so, opening the door and stepping into his lush chamber.  
  
"Ah, Veerle."  
  
"Hello, Father," she said softly, her head down.  
  
"Something troubles you, my daughter. Speak of it now, if you please."  
  
"Father, I should have told you before, but I was afraid of what you may say, and   
now the hour grows close," she began, speaking in a rush.  
  
"Veerle, please. Sit, and explain, slower if it is possible." Veerle smiled, and nodded.  
  
"Aye, Father. You see, whilst I was in Rivendell with Legolas, I met someone. He asked me to marry him, and I said yes." Her father's eyes widened.  
  
"A wedding, how wonderful! Tell me, is he a High Elf, or a Wood Elf?"  
  
"Well, Father, that's just the thing that worried me."  
  
"What is it, dear Veerle?"  
  
"He isn't an elf at all, father. He is a man, a strong, wonderful man, Boromir of Gondor. His father is the Steward, and I love him dearly. Please be not angry with me, but I could not help myself, for he is noble and strong." Thranduil, after getting past the initial shock, then smiled.  
  
"Oh, Veerle, I can clearly see he has stolen your heart. Have you thought this through completely?"  
  
"Aye, Father."  
  
"Then it shall be done. When will the wedding be?"  
  
Another knock came at the door just then, and Thranduil looked up.  
  
"Enter."  
  
A guard entered, bowing his head. "My Lord, I thought it would please you to hear that your son, Legolas, has returned. He and three men approach the castle as we speak."  
  
Veerle smiled, a contented sigh escaping her soft lips.   
  
"The wedding will be soon."  
  
  
~*~* A/N: Awww.. this was dedicated to my friend Lil, who is the inspiration of many, and the best idea-er around!!! *~*~ 


	8. A Wedding

~*~* A/N: Yea.. lol. This didn't take very long at all for me to write! :-D This one's for my friend Pix.. I wish you many a Aragasm over this one! *~*~  
  
  
Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood, was met with cheers and calls, for his arrival was greatly anticipated. The others were met with little more than suspicion and wonder, until the King Thranduil approached them, Veerle by his side. Father and Son embraced for a moment, and then broke apart. Veerle approached Boromir, a smile upon her face. Taking his hand, she turned back to her father.  
  
"Father, this is Boromir. Boromir, this is my Father, King Thranduil." Boromir bowed low, and Thranduil, smiling, patted him on the back.  
  
"So this is the young man who has stolen my daughter's heart."  
  
"It is an honor, my Lord. With me are my father, Denethor, The Steward of Gondor, and my brother Farimir. Here is a Ranger, Strider, and the Blackthorne Loriana."  
  
The King of Mirkwood gave them each a smile as they bowed to him.  
  
"Anyira, Hadril, Plintir," he said, gesturing to three elves who stood beside him, "Please escort Boromir, Lord Denethor, Strider, Loriana, and Farimir to the guest chambers. Then, see that a feast is prepared. Tonight, we will eat and drink to the union of Gondor and Mirkwood."  
  
  
The feast was lovely, and Veerle, Boromir, Legolas, Thranduil, Denethor, Loriana, Strider, and Farimir sat at a large and elaborate table. Thranduil and Denethor spoke of politics and the war in Gondor. Much to their pleasure, Thranduil promised three hundred troops to return with them to Minas Tirith. Veerle shared a smile with Boromir as wedding plans were discussed.   
  
"Now all I need is for my youngest son to be married, and that will be all of them," said Thranduil, offering a wink. "Tell me, Legolas, did you meet anyone on this journey?"  
  
Swallowing quickly, Legolas gave a glance to Loriana, then shook his head sadly. "Nae, Father. I met no one that I might marry."  
  
Boromir and Veerle looked down sadly, Veerle shaking her head.   
  
  
After the feast, Veerle and Boromir, hand in hand, walked throughout the forest of Mirkwood. They stole a kiss underneath a large tree, the moonlight dancing off their eyes and hair. With a smile, Veerle led Boromir to a small clearing, and lay down, gazing up at the stars. He lay as well, placing am arm protectively around her.  
  
She watched him, noticed how the stars reflected in his eyes, how his hair shimmered and shined. She ran a hand down his smooth cheek, seeing how his face was much akin to that of an elf - free, void of any hair or blemish. He smiled and sighed, pulling her closer.  
  
The wedding was to be tomorrow.  
  
  
Strider smiled, walking in the forest. It reminded him very much of those he walked in near Rivendell, and it had been a long while since he had taken a moment to appreciate the beauty and green around him. He sat underneath a tree, and was about to start a song, when he heard a voice come from above him.  
  
"Why, if I am not mistaken, you are the Ranger," came the sweet female voice from in the tree.  
  
Strider smiled, glancing up. He saw a woman sitting above him, on a sturdy branch.  
  
"Indeed, you may call me Strider."  
  
"Ah, Strider then. Would you care to join me? Or can Rangers climb trees?" Her voice twinkled with laughter. He responded with a laugh, and, jumping to his feet, climbed to the place where the woman sat.   
  
"You know my name, will you now share with me yours?"  
  
"Malfriour," she said softly and with a smile. "I am a friend of Princess Veerle's." Strider smiled, and nodded.   
  
"I see."  
  
"So, tell me, what is a Ranger doing at the wedding of an elf and the Son of Gondor?"  
  
"I am a friend of Boromir's, and of Legolas'."  
  
"I see," she said with a smirk. Strider recalled Boromir's words, "If you ever get the chance to love an elf.."  
  
"And you?" he asked with a flirtatious smile. "Are you married?"  
  
"Nae," she responded, tucking a bit of shining hair behind a pointed ear.  
  
"Neither am I," he said then, and, placing a hand on the woman's shoulder, leaned forward and whispered in her ear.   
  
"I am rather lonely, Lady Malfriour, and I would love your company."  
  
The Elvish woman only smiled, her eyes unreadable.  
  
"What would you say?" he asked.  
  
"I would say nothing, and kiss me, if I were in your place," she retorted with a grin.   
  
A grin on his own face, he leaned forward, his rough lips pressing against Malfriour's soft ones. She placed a hand on his leg, reciprocating the kiss. His tongue searched hers, their senses dancing as one. A soft moan escaping her lips vibrated against his, making him moan in return. Quickly, clothes were shed, cast to the ground. An elf who happened to be gazing in the direction of the tree was quite astonished by a green dress floating to the ground. Strider's and Malfriour's moans could be heard throughout much of the forest.  
  
  
The next morning, Veerle awoke, anticipating the events of the day. She smiled as her handmaid brought in her dress, and inspected it. It had been a family heirloom, worn by her mother and her grandmother. It was of the softest silk, silver, light green, and gold. It was said that dreams were weaved into it, every seam full of love and hope.   
  
A knock on the door, and Malfriour entered. "Oh, Veerle, today is the day you shall wed!" she exclaimed. Veerle smiled a wide smile, and nodded.   
  
"Aye, indeed, but I must first share this secret with you. You must swear to tell no one."  
  
"Of course! I also have a secret to share." Malfriour said, and sat beside her. "Now, what is your secret?"  
  
  
Boromir readied himself in his chamber. He gulped, looking at his reflection. He wore the emblem of his city, and the uniform that his father had worn when he was wed.   
  
"Just don't faint," he murmured to himself.  
  
  
Veerle slipped into the dress, letting the soft fabric envelop her. She sat as Malfriour brushed her hair, a thoughtful glimmer in her eye.  
  
"When will you tell him?" Veerle's friend asked, resulting in a sigh from Veerle.  
  
"I know not. After the wedding, I suppose."  
  
"You will tell him, won't you? He ought to have been the first to know.. It is his fault," she joked with a playful laugh.  
  
"You're one to talk about irresponsible behavior, Malfriour!" exclaimed Veerle, a laugh escaping her lips as well.  
  
"I am allowed irresponsibility every now and again," retorted Malfriour. "Regardless, let us go to the hall, for the wedding is to be at dusk."  
  
  
With a smile, Thranduil greeted Elrond, who had arrived to aid in the ceremony. For the bonding of Elf and Man had long been anticipated, especially and Elven princess and the Son of the Steward of the White City. They were in an outdoor hall, and the trees themselves seemed to bow with excitement and hope. Veerle and Boromir approached the two Elf Kings, and all who were present sat. Loriana sat beside Strider, she in a green gown and he in elvish garb as well. Legolas, smiling, stood at the front, to bear witness and show his support, as did Malfriour. Denethor and Farimir sat with Thranduil's other sons and relations.  
  
"Today is a beautiful day in Mirkwood," began Elrond, standing beside Thranduil in the very front. "For today we bear witness to the joining of two races, of two families, and of two kingdoms. The love of two has brought masses together, and this union is both beautiful and wondrous."  
  
Veerle and Boromir faced one another, their hands over one another's hearts. Swallowing, Boromir willed himself not to faint.  
  
"The two before us share a love stronger than any, and shall endure all, even death. With this ceremony, I bind you, my daughter Veerle to Boromir. Do you agree to this?" Thranduil continued.  
  
"Yes, with all of my heart and the entirety of my soul," she responded gazing deep into Boromir's eyes.  
  
"Boromir, son of Gondor, do you promise to protect and love Veerle of Mirkwood with your entire being, for all of eternity?" asked Elrond, glancing to the young man before him.  
  
"Yes, with all of my heart and the entirety of my soul."  
  
"Then," continued Thranduil and Elrond in unison, "With this marriage, Gondor and Mirkwood, like Veerle and Boromir, will be united and their fates bound." With a cheer, the crowd clamored, embracing those near them. Veerle and Boromir shared the sweetest of kisses, their hands still over one another's hearts.   
  
  
~*~* A/N: Everyone's gettin' some ass but me! *grin* *~*~ 


	9. Many Happenings

~*~* A/N: All right, this thing is coming to an end! This is one of the last chapters, so PLEASE ENJOY! :-D*~*~  
~*~* PS: Hey Lil and Pix! You guys rock, even though I died a virgin. (Go read Pix's fic, it's better than mine! :-D )  
  
  
The table raised their glasses to the newly-wed couple, and Thranduil was beginning a speech and toast, when the doors flew open.  
  
Boromir recognized the men who ran in immediately as messengers of Gondor.  
  
Denethor raised, also recognizing them.  
  
"Speak loud and fast, for I feel something is amiss," the Steward commanded, and a messenger stepped forward.  
  
"The armies, sir, the orcs and trolls, have multiplied. There are thousands."  
  
Denethor pressed a hand against his brow, and closed his eyes.  
  
"I thank you, King Thranduil, for your hospitality, but my sons and I must leave now."  
  
"I understand, and an army of my people will go with you."  
  
  
As soon as possible, the armies were to leave Mirkwood. Legolas and some of his older brothers went, as well as many of the noblest warriors of the elf-city. Veerle and Boromir shared an embrace before he mounted his horse.  
  
"I will be back for you, my wife," he said softly, and she smiled up at him.  
  
"Fight bravely, my love," she responded.  
  
Strider gave Malfriour a flirtatious smile as he, too, mounted his horse and readied for battle. Loriana was silent as she readied for battle.  
  
"I expect I shall return," she said quietly, and Legolas' keen ears picked up the sound.  
  
"Do you wish to?"  
  
"Aye, for your city is beautiful, and the people in it kind. When this battle is over, I will return here."  
  
Legolas nodded, but a shadow came over his heart and mind.   
  
  
As the armies returned to Minas Tirith, they were met with sadness and fear. Many of the women and children had already fled, heading west, out of the face of immediate danger, even though, as many feared, if The White City fell, there would be little defense for the rest of Middle Earth. It truly shielded the rest of men's cities from danger, and it had for as long as it existed.   
  
There was much time for pleasantries, for several months had passed before the armies of Mordor could be seen approaching Minas Tirith. Loriana sharpened her sword as Boromir and Farimir continued to make plans. From atop a tower, an archer shouted.  
  
"Sirs, from the north, a figure on horseback approaches."  
  
Boromir drew himself up a ladder, peering over the city wall. Even without the keen sight of elves, he recognized the rider.  
  
"What is she doing?" he asked himself. Then, he climbed back down the ladder and approached Legolas.  
  
"Your sister is coming here,"  
  
"Where is she?"  
  
"Sir?" came the voice from atop the tower, but Boromir ignored it.   
  
"Approaching from the north."  
  
"SIR!" repeated the voice, sounding more and more urgent.  
  
"I wonder why she's coming here," continued Legolas.  
  
"SIR! Really, this is rather important."  
  
"Oh, Brolock, what is it?"  
  
"Orcs, sir."  
  
"Where?"  
  
"To the north."  
  
  
Boromir rushed to the doors of the city, shouting to the Gate-keepers to open them. Legolas was right behind him. Running at their full speeds, Legolas and Boromir reached Veerle just moments after a band of five or six orcs had. Veerle was thrown upon the ground.  
  
Boromir drew his sword, Legolas his knife, and they began to battle the orcs. Surprisingly, they offered no fight, but retreated quickly, carrying some sort of baggage that Veerle had been carrying.  
  
"Veerle," said Boromir, stooping to help her up. "What are you doing here?"  
  
"Oh, Valar, no!" she exclaimed, shooting to her feet as she saw the orcs carrying off two bundles. She started to give them chase, but Boromir held her back.   
  
"Veerle, it's just a material possession, nothing to risk your life over."  
  
"No, Boromir, our children!" she shouted, trying to break free.  
  
"Our.. " Boromir's eyes widened.  
  
"Your.." Legolas' did the same.  
  
"Our children, Boromir, our twin babies. I was bringing them here to show you - but.. Oh Valar, they'll be killed!"  
  
"No, they will not," insisted Legolas, setting off in the direction of the orcs. "Boromir, escort Veerle back to Minas Tirith. Either way - this will not take long."  
  
  
Veerle turned back to Boromir. "I- I'm sorry I didn't tell you before. I was going to, but you had to leave so quickly, and-"   
  
Boromir nearly collapsed.  
  
"I-I'm a father?"  
  
"Aye, two babies, a boy and a girl. The boy is Boromir the Second, and the girl is Lelorelie. Oh, Boromir, they are beautiful."  
  
They spoke as he took her back to Minas Tirith. He took her to meet his father, and then to get a meal.   
  
Hours later, Legolas still had not returned.  
  
  
"Sir," said the scout to Farimir, breathless as he returned, "A band of orcs and trolls approach."  
  
"We shall be sure they do not reach the gates of the city. We will send out a party of fifty to counter them."  
  
"Aye," replied the scout.  
  
  
Veerle watched intently. Hours had passed, and Legolas was not back with her children. She began to fear for his life, and for her children's. Taking up her husband's sword, she snuck out of the city's gates, her eyes set upon the direction that her brother and children were. She jogged without stop until she could vaguely see figures in the distance.   
  
  
"Loriana," spoke Farimir, and she looked up. "A group of orcs and trolls approach, and I am sending out a group of fifty to counter them. I would like you to lead this group, if you would."  
  
"Of course," she said with a self-assured nod. "When will we depart?"  
  
"Within an hour," replied the younger son of the Steward.  
  
"Very well. I shall sharpen my sword."  
  
  
"Veerle?" Boromir called, knocking on the chamber where he left her. There came no response from the lush room.  
  
"Veerle, my darling, Legolas will return any moment, I am sure of it." Silence was still the only answer. Finally, with a sigh, Boromir opened the door, to find the room empty.  
  
Turning, he stopped the handmaid of the hall.   
  
"Where is my wife?"  
  
"She left an hour ago, sir."  
  
"Where did she go?"  
  
"She left the city."  
  
Boromir swore underneath his breath, and turned back to the handmaid.  
  
"Get me my sword."  
  
"Sir, she took your sword with her."  
  
  
Veerle could make out the shapes of orcs and a troll in the distance. She continued on toward them, a grim expression on her timeless face.  
  
  
Boromir left the city quickly, on horseback. He rode hard, fast, and without pause, until he saw a figure approaching him, carrying two bundles. As it drew nearer, he saw that it was Legolas, carrying the babies.  
  
"Veerle, did you see her?" demanded Boromir, and Legolas' face fell.  
  
"Veerle is not with you?"  
  
"No, she snuck out of the city. The tower guards said she was going in this direction.  
  
"I did not see her." Boromir jumped from his horse, looking at the children that Legolas bore.  
  
"Are those..?"  
  
"Indeed, they are," replied Legolas, handing him the boy.  
  
Boromir's eyes lightened as he took his son into his arms. He felt a rush of pride and love through his entire being.  
  
"Take them quickly, Legolas. Use my horse. You must take them to Mirkwood, they will be safe there." Legolas nodded, and mounted the horse. Boromir handed his son up to him.  
  
"Find Veerle, go quickly. For I fear the worst." At this, Legolas urged the horse on, whispering Elvish into it's ear. It took off, faster than Boromir could ever have made it move.  
  
  
Loriana stood before the fifty that would accompany her into battle outside the city walls. Sword sharp, she held it before her.  
  
"Let us go," she said, and they started toward the east.  
  
  
~*~* A/N: All right. I'm fairly certain that the next chapter will be the last... be prepared, and bring tissues! :-D *~*~ 


	10. Like Me

~*~ A/N: Here it is! The stunning, tear-envoking (I hope!) last chapter of Blackthorne! Actually, there's an epilogue after this, so... read that too! *~*~  
  
  
  
Veerle drew near to the orcs, and they looked up, growling, wretched and horrible.  
  
"Where are my children?" she demanded as they advanced on her. She fought bravely, but faltered when the troll attacked her as well. She cried out, hoping anyone could hear her, as she was thrown to the ground.  
  
  
Loriana squinted her eyes as the band of orcs and trolls came into her view. She signaled for the group behind her to move forward, and they did. Just a moment too late, Loriana saw another group, larger and stronger, of orcs approaching fast from their hiding place. Unable to retreat, Loriana pulled out her sword, prepared to fight to the death, preferably theirs.  
  
  
Boromir heard her cries for help, and ran as fast as he can, then willed himself to go faster. His legs were beginning to tire and his breath grew short when she finally came into his view. A large troll was looming over Veerle, on the ground. With a cry, Boromir flung himself at it, fighting the creature with only a dagger. He cut into the beast's abdomen, hanging on as it began to thrash him about. With a last war cry, he plunged the dagger deep into the creature's throat, and listened as it wheezed and gasped for it's last breath. With a groan, Boromir let himself fall from the troll. He landed on the ground beside Veerle, and turned his attention to her.  
  
"Oh, Valar," he murmured softly, and knelt by her side.  
  
  
Loriana watched out of the corner of her eye as those around her fell to the orcs. She continued to fight, the sword of the Blackthorne glimmering with the evening's sunset. Night crept into being, Loriana and a few others holding their ground. One by one, Loriana's comrades fell, until she alone fought the beasts before her. Alone, her against several orcs and a troll. Taking a deep breath, she lunged at them.  
  
  
Legolas rode hard, reaching Mirkwood by nightfall. Handing the children to his father, he had little time to explain, before he was overcome with the greatest feeling of dread and fear he had ever experienced.   
His father felt it as well.  
  
"Go quickly," were his only words, as Legolas turned and commanded the horse go faster than ever before.  
  
  
Boromir knelt beside Veerle, taking her bloody hand into his. She whimpered, opening her eyes and looking at him through tear-wetted lashes.   
  
"The children," she said softly, and Boromir kissed her forehead.  
  
"Legolas has them, he took them to your father."  
  
"Boromir, I-" she stopped, the pain in her abdomen and, above all, in her heart, becoming to much for her.   
  
"Shh, my sweet," he said softly, feeling his eyes fill with tears.   
  
"We were supposed to have eternity," she said in a whisper, and he felt himself succumb to his emotions, as he wept over his dying wife.  
  
  
Loriana slashed into the skull of the last orc, and sighed. She glanced about her, the bodies of orcs and men scattered about in bloodied heaps. Ruination. Death. Emptiness. She bent beside an elf who lay dead, a cousin of Legolas'. Allowing but one tear to fall, she closed his eyes and straightened. Then, turning, she walked in the bleak darkness back toward the west, to Minas Tirith, to tell of the loss they suffered that day.   
  
  
Farimir looked out against the dark sky. The sun had just set, and no word from the company he had sent out earlier in the day. There were only supposed to be a few orcs, perchance a troll or two. But, as the fear in his heart and the absense of any news confirmed, something had gone wrong.  
  
He broke the news to the troops, but not telling them that the Blackthorne had been among the dead. Morale was low enough, and if it was known that their one hope was dead, dying, or in grave danger - well, you see, Farimir had no choice.  
  
  
Legolas rode back into the City, dismounting from his horse quickly. With a glance around, he approached a tower. Perhaps from there, he could see his sister and her husband, and know if they were all right.  
  
High in a tower of the White City, Legolas stood beside the newly appointed archer Jaspin, who took aim at an approaching creature. It was lone, and he notched an arrow and pulled back on the chord.  
  
"Watch this orc fall," he said to the elf beside him, and let go. The arrow whistled through the air, and hit it's target. Jaspin smiled, proudly as it fell.  
  
Legolas looked out at Jaspin's prey one moment too late to stop him.  
  
"Fool!" Legolas exclaimed, as he all but jumped from the Tower. In the distance, his keen Elvish sight could make out the details of the figure; a lone soldier, returning from her latest battle.  
  
  
Boromir leaned over and kissed his wife on the forehead.  
  
"I wish I could have given you the world," he said softly, and she shook her head.  
  
"All I want.. All I need," she said, coughing up a bit of blood as her eyes began to glaze over. "Is to hear you say that you love me."  
  
Boromir closed his eyes, tears falling hard on his wife's cheeks.   
  
"I love you with all my heart, and I swear to you - I will never allow another that I care for to die at the hands of orcs. If, by my life or death, I can protect any, I will." Her eyes stopped their movement as she took in her last breaths. "Veerle, I will die a hero for you, that I swear."  
  
Her last breath came out in a shudder, as Boromir placed his hand over her heart. Tears still fell from his misty eyes, and Veerle's gaze froze on her love, her life, her husband. He could no longer feel the sweet throb of her heart.  
  
With a cry, he lifted her limp body from the ground and held it in his arms, his body shuddering and quaking as he sobbed loudly, without care or qualm.   
  
"Veerle, my Veerle. How could I let you go? I love you, and now you're gone from me. What am I to do?" he sobbed, speaking to himself and to Valar. He sat for a long time holding his lost love, and weeping.   
  
  
Legolas ran down the Tower staircase and through the doors, without saying a word to anyone. He would make it to her in time, he had to. She could not die like this, not without him. Not like this. He ran as fast as his feet would take him, faster than he had ever ran before for anything. He saw her lying there, and fell to his knees as he reached her. An arrow protruded from her chest, just aside from her heart.  
  
"Loriana, thank Valar, I'm in time," he began to pick her up, but she shook her head.  
  
"No, Legolas. I am meant to die here," she said softly, reaching up and taking his hand. "Though I am glad you are beside me."  
  
"Loriana, there's still hope," he said, going to pick her up again. She resisted, and collapsed on the ground.  
  
"No, Legolas. There is no hope. I'm sorry," she said softly, and he looked down at her. She was correct, there was no hope. Blood coated the ground beneath her, and she was turning a pale color, her breath weak.  
  
"Loriana," he said gently, touching his hand to her forehead. She was becoming icy cold. She reached up, grasping his shoulder.  
  
"Here ends the legacy of the Blackthorne," she said, barely above a whisper. Legolas bent his head, letting out a shuddering cascade of tears to the earth beneath him. "I can see - it's so clear," she whispered, hysterical. "You are to save the world, Legolas. You're a hero as well, like me."  
  
"No," he said with a shake of his head, tears still falling from his beautiful grey eyes, dark with sorrow. "No one is like you, Loriana."  
  
She groaned, her hand growing weak on his shoulder.  
  
"Loriana, I love you," he said bravely, and touched her cheek. "I love you more than life itself, more than the forests or the trees."  
  
"I love you," she said softly, and closed her eyes.  
  
Pictures flashed through her mind, of growing up with her father, of her mother, of losing her father. The first time she met Aragorn, the first time she met Legolas. The council of Elrond, her handmaid Raelinda. Aragorn's promise to her to return to Rivendell. Journeying to Gondor, climbing Caradharas. Legolas, oh Legolas, her sweet forbidden love, unrequited and incapable of being. Mirkwood. She would never get to return to Mirkwood, or to Rivendell. She would never get to know love, never have what Boromir and Veerle have. Never.  
  
Opening her eyes once again, she looked up at Legolas with tear-filled emerald orbs, his grey eyes wet with salty tears as well. He leaned down, placing his lips upon hers. She felt she could go on forever in that kiss, if he would only never stop kissing her. She could live if he kissed her.  
  
He pulled away, and the moment their lips parted, her eyes froze and her heart refused to beat. He sobbed over her for a long time, until he heard footsteps approach. He prayed it was an orc, so that he may die in battle.  
  
"Oh no," said Aragorn softly, dropping beside his Loriana, his sister. He took her hand, a tear falling down his rough cheek. Legolas knelt beside him.  
  
"Today is a terrible day in Gondor," Aragorn continued, tears falling from his face and wetting his shirt. "I fear I bring bad tidings. Boromir just returned to the city. Legolas, your sister -" Aragorn did not have to finish this sentence, for Legolas knew in his heart that she was lost as well. Collapsing to the ground, laying with his face buried in the sand, Legolas wept and sobbed for a great deal of time, long after Aragorn had lifted Loriana and carried her back to Minas Tirith. He lay there underneath the stars, crying to Valar, why he had been spared when the two he cared for most taken? The only answer came back in Loriana's words, haunting him.  
  
"You are to save the world, Legolas. You are a hero as well, like me."  
  
  
  
  
~*~ A/N: *sniffle* *~*~ 


	11. Epilogue

~ Epilogue ~  
  
  
Boromir returned to Minas Tirith, where he mourned for his wife. On his way to the Council of Elrond, where they were to discuss the One Ring, he came across an elven girl, barely twenty years of age. He saw his wife in that girl, and knew he had seen his daughter.   
  
Boromir discovered that the Ranger Strider was in actuality Aragorn, Isildur's heir. He met this with disbelief and confusion.  
  
Boromir kept his promise to Veerle, and gave his life to save his friends Merry and Pippin's. He died a hero, just as he swore he would.  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
Legolas mourned for the loss of Veerle and Loriana. Many say to this day that the leaves of Mirkwood are not as green as when fair princess Veerle was amongst them.  
  
Legolas met Boromir and all men of Gondor with only bitterness after these events, blaming them for his losses. It wasn't until the Fellowship of the Ring was formed that he put aside his and Boromir's differences.   
  
Legolas never married, instead finding friendship and solitude in the Sea.  
  
  
~*~   
  
  
Aragorn, after returning to Rivendell, fell in love with Arwen Evenstar, daughter of Elrond. With a smile, he often recalled Boromir's words, "If you ever get the opportunity to love an elf..". He later married her, and reclaimed the throne of Gondor.  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
Malfriour, the elven maiden who Aragorn sought company in, was said to have married a Ranger, much to the dismay of Thranduil and her own father.   
  
  
~*~  
  
  
Aragorn and Legolas both kept their promises to Loriana, escorting her body, covered in a gold and silver casket, to both Mirkwood and Rivendell. She was met with sadness and reverence, and was finally buried beside her father (whose body was later recovered and buried as well) in Rivendell.   
  
  
  
  
~*~ The End ~*~  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
~*~*A/N: *weeps* Wow - I've become attatched to those characters, and it's sad to see this end.   
  
This story was dedicated to my friends Pix and Lil - without your inspiration, ideas, and friendship, I doubt I would have finished it.   
  
Be on the lookout for my next big project - A collaboration with Pix! *~*~ 


End file.
